ill, not even of hair oil. No
bend or twist in its rigid angles betrayed any trait of its wearer's
character. I tried to think that it might have been "Mariar's." I tried
to imagine that, confining the symmetrical curls of that girl, it might
have heard the soft compliments whispered in her ears which provoked the
wrath of the aged female. But in vain. It was reticent and unswerving in
its upright fidelity, and at last slipped listlessly through my fingers.

I had dozed repeatedly--waked on the threshold of oblivion by
contact with some of the angles of the coach, and feeling that I was
unconsciously assuming, in imitation of a humble insect of my childish
recollection, that spherical shape which could best resist those
impressions, when I perceived that the moon, riding high in the heavens,
had begun to separate the formless masses of the shadowy landscape.
Trees isolated, in clumps and assemblages, changed places before
my window. The sharp outlines of the distant hills came back, as
in daylight, but little softened in the dry, cold, dewless air of a
California summer night. I was wondering how late it was, and thinking
that if the horses of the night traveled as slowly as the team before
us, Faustus might have been spared his agonizing prayer, when a sudden
spasm of activity attacked my driver. A succession of whip-snappings,
like a pack of Chinese crackers, broke from the box before me. The stage
leaped forward, and when I could pick myself from under the seat, a long
white building had in some mysterious way rolled before my window.
It must be Slumgullion! As I descended from the stage I addressed the
driver:

"I thought you changed horses on the road?"

"So we did. Two hours ago."

"That's odd. I didn't notice it."

"Must have been asleep, sir. Hope you had a pleasant nap. Bully place
for a nice quiet snooze--empty stage, sir!"

THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT

His name was Fagg--David Fagg. He came to California in '52 with us,
in the SKYSCRAPER. I don't think he did it in an adventurous way. He
probably had no other place to go to. When a knot of us young fellows
would recite what splendid opportunities we resigned to go, and how
sorry our friends were to have us leave, and show daguerreotypes and
locks of hair, and talk of Mary and Susan, the man of no account used to
sit by and listen with a pained, mortified expression on his plain face,
and say nothing. I think he had nothing to say. He had no associat